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This
is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events or establishments–except where used in a historical
context–is entirely coincidental.

Mariah
Parbury sent a little prayer spiraling up past the plaster cherubs
cavorting on her family’s drawing room ceiling. Couldn’t her
parents and siblings be suddenly blessed with the miracle of thespian
talent? Please? If they could not be genuinely interested in the
stories their honored guest was sharing, as she was, at least there
would be some hope of not offending him.

As
it was now, their glassy-eyed stares and frozen smiles seemed
unlikely to fool anyone. Could
he possibly have failed to notice?
Mariah felt a little frozen in place herself, torn between
embarrassment over their reactions and her own fascination with the
man. Er, with his stories, that was. Neither crawling under her chair
nor strangling her family were acceptable options (most un-ladylike).
Moreover, she did not want to miss a word he said.

She could listen to Lord
Milbourne for as long as he wanted to speak. For one thing, listening
offered an excuse for looking, and the handsome marquess’s golden
hair and striking amber eyes were reward enough for doing that. But
more, his exotic tales of India opened a fascinating new world to
her, as if a brilliant light had burst into the grayness of her quite
ordinary life. Hanging on his every word and trying not to actually
stare at him might not be the most seemly behavior, but was it not
preferable to her family’s fixed, vacant expressions?

“What
would you suppose is the correct response when a tiger is prowling
about one’s camp in the night?” the marquess asked, looking
around at his listeners. Honestly, how could they not be interested?

Mariah’s
brother William, slouched in the damask-upholstered chair nearest to
their guest, seemed to shake himself awake. “Uh, grab the nearest
pistol or musket?”

One
might expect William at least to be making a better effort. His long
friendship with Lord Milboune most certainly had to be the only
reason the marquess had agreed to come to dinner at the Parburys’
London home in the first place. In the six weeks since he’d arrived
in the city, he had already earned a reputation as reclusive. It was
very surprising that he had entirely—almost determinedly—dominated
all conversation during the forty-five minutes since he’d arrived
at their house.

“No,
my friend,” Lord Milbourne said with a chuckle. “If you tried
that you would very likely lose your life, or at least a limb. I must
beg the ladies’ pardon, but I have seen a tiger who was shot three
times move on to attack and tear a man’s leg clean off.”

Mariah
thought her father, seated in the large armchair across from the
marquess, looked slightly more attentive now, but the baron was a man
of few words at most times. Her mother, in a smaller matching chair
to the right of their guest, opened her fan and waved it vaguely. Her
sisters, Rorie and Georgie sharing the pale blue sofa and the
youngest, Cassie, on a wooden straight chair like Mariah’s, shifted
their expressions from bored to suitably alarmed.

“Then
what is
the correct response?” William asked. He raised an eyebrow at the
marquess and received an answering look that Mariah could not
decipher. Was something going on with them?

No
one else spoke.

“At
first, lie quietly on one’s cot and hope the prowler won’t go
after the horses,” the marquess said, looking around at them all
again. “Then, when the animal is not so close, to have everyone
grab pots, pans, blocks, anything that can make a loud noise
including weapons and voices, and make as overwhelming a racket as
possible. Tigers have a low tolerance for uncomfortable situations.”

He
paused for breath and silence enveloped the room again.

A
tiger wouldn’t be happy here,
Mariah thought.

Mindful
of her mother’s specific instructions, she had stifled every
question she had wanted to ask since her brother’s friend had
arrived at their home. Now she tried to imagine living in a country
where beautiful, dangerous wild creatures roamed at large. She simply
couldn’t stop herself. “Do tigers live everywhere in India, my
lord?”

For
a moment Lord Milbourne looked surprised and gratified. Lady Parbury,
however, was looking daggers at Mariah.

“They
do, Miss Parbury,” the marquess said. “While this particular
tiger lived in a small region between Bombay and Poonah, tigers
inhabit a wide variety of types of landscapes, and can be found
anywhere on the subcontinent.”

With
renewed energy, he launched into all manner of other interesting
facts about tigers. The fixed smiles fell back into place on the
faces of her family members. When Lord Milbourne seemed to be slowing
down again, William roused himself to ask another question. “Did
you encounter any tigers in Lampur?”

Mariah
saw another look pass between the two young men. Was she the only one
paying enough attention to notice it?

*
* *

Reinhart
Maycott, Lord Milbourne, hesitated to branch into the next topic.
Talking about Lampur treaded dangerously close to personal topics he
wished to avoid. William was only trying to help, but he didn’t
know half of what Ren had been through in these last recent years.

Still,
he wanted to keep up a steady, overwhelming barrage of stories and
information. God knew, after nearly an hour the effort was becoming
excruciating. Was his strategy working?

He
glanced quickly around the Parburys’ drawing room at his listeners.
Fixed stares and polite smiles failed to hide their boredom.
Excellent! Even Will looked half-asleep, and he had suggested this
plan to Ren in the first place.

Ren
smiled. It appeared that only one person in the room was immune to
his effort to be an insufferable guest: Will’s third sister,
Mariah. One failure out
of seven. Somehow, he
didn’t mind. She was not the prettiest of the four young women, but
she had intelligent gray eyes and a pert alertness that he found
rather charming. She regarded him intently, nodding with enthusiasm,
and seemed constantly on the verge of asking questions, although she
had not actually voiced any until the one about tigers. Perhaps not
every woman in London was blinded by his wealth and newly inherited
title.

“Lampur,
where I have lived for the last three years, is a tiny but very
wealthy state in the mountains next to Mysore,” he said, starting
again. “I did not personally encounter any tigers while I was
there, but as in other parts of the Hindustan, hunting them was
considered prime sport.” He thought he should spare the ladies any
details about that. “Lampur is blessed with some of the only gold
mines in the Hindustan, which is both a curse and a source of great
power.”

Some
of the younger eyes rolled, and he nearly laughed. He had already
talked at length about the importance of gold in Indian culture and
its role in the trade economies of the various regions.

“Neighboring
states always wish to acquire that source of gold for themselves, but
wealth can be its own defense. The Raja of Lampur can bribe or quite
simply purchase almost any army that would threaten to come against
his territory.” Except
for ours.

Mentioning
that their own country also had designs on Lampur’s wealth was
probably impolitic, since he wasn’t certain of Lord Parbury’s
stance on many Indian issues. Completely offending his host might
guarantee that Ren would not be invited again, but he only meant to
earn a reputation as an entirely boring guest, not to destroy his
friendship with Will. He needed the few friends he had here. He
glanced again at William, who obliged him with a half-stifled yawn.
Please God, couldn’t
dinner be ready soon?

Ren
launched into a description of Lampur’s beautiful landscape and the
moderating effect of the mountains on India’s warm climate.

*
* *

Caught
up in Lord Milbourne’s narrative, Mariah nearly jumped when
Bennett, her family’s butler, appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is
served, my lord and my lady.”

The
summons seemed heaven-sent, despite its delivery by her family’s
purely mortal butler. She could have kissed the poor fellow’s
leathery old cheek. Food would be a distraction, and might keep her
family better engaged.

She
waited for her mother’s signal. There.
Lady Parbury rose from her seat. No audible sigh of gratitude issued
from the rest of the company—they were too well-bred for that—but
a new energy infused the little party as it began to gather itself up
into a procession for dinner. Mariah happily abandoned her hard,
wooden seat then, certain its fretted back had left an imprint of
every line upon her own.

While
her mother took charge of organizing the expedition down to the
dining room, Mariah was content to hang back and watch. Her sense of
relief was cut short, however, by the sight of her younger sister
Cassandra bearing down upon her with a look as purposeful as that of
a sheepdog singling out a lamb.

“Mariah, do you not think the
marquess is the most magnificent
gentleman you have ever seen?” Cassie murmured, grasping Mariah’s
arm and drawing her further aside. Mariah might have agreed as she
noted how very tall he was in the midst of her family, but she had no
chance. Cassie went on without so much as drawing breath. “’Tis
simply criminal that his conversation should be, well, so
suffocatingly tedious!”

Oh, no. Cassie along with the
rest of them. “Cassie,
hush!” Mariah looked about warily. “What a thing to say! Suppose
he should hear you?”

But her caution met only a giggle
and a bounce of flaxen curls. Sixteen-year-old Cassie was not known
for her good judgment. “I doubt he can hear us, or anything, with
Rorie and Georgie on either side of him and Mama busy telling
everyone where they should be!”

Their mother’s penetrating
tones could mask louder comments than theirs, it was true. Under the
cover of her most brilliant smile, Lady Parbury was attempting to
correct her son in the doorway as her elder two daughters flanked
their guest. Baron Parbury stood silently to one side, safely out of
the fray as usual, while the group prepared to march through the
passageway and descend the stairs.

“William, since Aurora is the
eldest, the marquess must escort her, and you must take down your
sister Georgiana.” The baroness nodded benignly as her son moved to
comply, missing entirely the look he exchanged with the marquess. As
he passed his mother she nudged him and added in a disappointed
undertone, “You must
pay attention to these matters, William! You are a grown man.”

Mariah sighed. If only their
mother would learn to be less obvious! William’s “error” was
understandable, since in most households, the marquess should have
escorted Lady Parbury herself, instead of her husband. But in this
instance the baroness had another quite specific scheme in
mind—pushing Rorie at the marquess.

Their guest was
stunningly attractive. Cassie’s “magnificent” could be both
over-dramatic and still correct, for “handsome” quite failed to
do him justice. Mariah’s breath seemed to catch a little every time
she looked directly at him, which of course she had been trying to
avoid. But how could she not? He drew her gaze like a magnet. And
besides that, he was single, reportedly as rich as Croesus, and
obviously a prime target for every marriage-minded female in London.
She even felt a trifle sorry for him. Who knew that William’s old
school friend would become such a catch?

He’d told them he had become
known as “The Lion of Lampur” in India and he quite looked the
part. He was a giant of a man—nearly a head taller than William and
so broad-shouldered that his coat of claret superfine strained to fit
him properly. The tawny shade of his hair nearly matched the color of
his striking eyes. Mariah imagined that his lazy-lidded gaze could
sharpen into a predatory stare upon an instant’s provocation.

His face showed the patrician
lines of his Austrian-English parentage, with well-defined
cheekbones, a straight, narrow nose and a sculptural curve to his
upper lip that she found fascinating. His skin, while obviously fair,
seemed kissed by just enough sun to render it golden, too—as if he
himself had been touched by the riches of the exotic land he had so
recently quit. He exuded an air of raw animal power that certainly
matched his nickname. There must be a story about how he had earned
that, but he had not told it. Mariah would have loved to ask. Despite
all his tales, he had shared little that was truly personal.

Still, she found it exhilarating
to meet someone who had lived such an exciting life, so different
from her own endless parade of uneventful days. The hint of mystery
about him only made him more appealing. She had soaked up every word,
thirsty for his knowledge of mysterious places and scarcely able to
look away from him. How could her family be so uninterested? She had
a hundred questions, but had dutifully choked back every one of them,
mindful of her mother’s stern warning about drawing attention to
herself, away from Rorie.

Had there been the remotest
chance of anyone actually noticing her, Mariah feared she might have
made a great cake of herself, showing too much enthusiasm for their
guest. However, as the third of four Parbury daughters, the next
quietest after Georgie, and not blessed with the blonde beauty of her
sisters, she was not the sort of young woman for whom being noticed
was generally an issue. (Lamentably, she had hair like William and
their father, light brown and impossibly curly.) Fading into the
background was more her forte.

“’Tis inconceivable how every
possible topic leads back to life in India,” Cassie whispered. “If
I have to hear one more story about Hindu rituals or gold mining in
Lampur, I shall get up on the dining table and scream!” Fortunately
for all of London society, Cassie had not yet made her come-out. She
was the sort much more likely to be noticed.

“Come along, girls,” their
mother called back from halfway down the grand stairway. Her
penetrating voice sounded artificially bright.

Now in the passageway leading to
the stairs, Mariah sighed again and gave her younger sister a warning
look. “Behave, Cassie, or mother will never forgive you.” Nor
will I, she thought as
they descended behind the others. Wasn’t the evening already in
danger of becoming a disaster? Was she the only one aware of it? And
why should she care so much? That was a different mystery.

* * *

In the dining room, everyone else
had taken places at the table by the time she and Cassie straggled
in. With its soft green walls and white decorative plasterwork, the
room always struck Mariah as rather like a Wedgwood box turned
outside in. She still pondered why sylph-like Grecian figures who
looked half-starved were appropriate décor in a dining room while
plump cherubs and a bounty of carved plaster fruit graced the drawing
room instead.

A massive pier glass and gilded
side table to match it occupied the center of one long wall, between
windows draped in heavy white satin. Mariah’s mother was motioning
her toward the one remaining seat that faced this—oh,
Lord, next to the marquess.
Rorie was on his other side. The room’s heavily ornamented chimney
piece and hearth occupied the center of the opposite wall, which
Cassie would face from the seat opposite Mariah. Overhead an
impressive twenty-four light chandelier glittered with dozens of
crystal pendants, shining down softly upon a groaning table loaded
with the Parburys’ best silver.

The baron stood by his chair at
the head of the gleaming table with their mother at the opposite end.
William and the marquess were placed at center on either side, where
daughters of the house could flank them right and left. Another
obvious strategy! There were only eight at table for the meal—just
family and the guest of honor. Mariah gave thanks that at least her
mother had refrained from inviting half of the Beau
Monde to join them
simply to witness Lord Milbourne’s presence there.

His attendance did not strike
Mariah as so very remarkable, despite her mother’s pride in the
accomplishment. Young Reinhart Maycott had been sent from India,
where he’d been raised, to attend Harrow, where he and William had
become friends. While Maycott had gone on to the East India College
in Hertfordshire and William to Cambridge, the two had managed to
maintain their friendship, bridging time and even the thousands of
miles between England and India that eventually separated them. The
son of a younger son, Mr. Maycott, now Lord Milbourne, had only
recently—and quite unexpectedly—come into his grandfather’s
title. He had returned to England barely six weeks ago and had been
using his time since then to make arrangements and settle into his
new role.

What must it be like to be
suddenly thrust back into England after spending most of one’s life
in a foreign land? Mariah supposed it might have been lonely, if the
marquess had been anyone else. But of course, the ton had embraced
him in an instant—rather, besieged him like bees after honey. Who
could resist the heady combination of high rank and vastly deep
pockets in such a wondrously handsome package? Perhaps “magnificent”
was the proper word for him, after all.

“Please, do let us all
sit down,” said Lady Parbury, startling Mariah out of her thoughts.

Glancing around guiltily, she
realized the others had sat down. Only she and Lord Milbourne were
still standing as he politely waited for her to take the seat beside
him. As she dropped into it hastily, she caught his image reflected
in the pier glass on the wall opposite them. It would
so happen that both of them should have seats facing it! How would
she keep from stealing glances at him in it all through the meal?

She looked away quickly,
mortified, as she realized he was returning her gaze. With one
eyebrow raised and a half-smile curving his lips, he looked bemused.
By her. Dear Lord, it
was not fair that he should be so attractive!
She swallowed. If she did not get herself in hand this meal might not
be such an improvement over the previous time as she had hoped!

Focusing on the meal helped to
restore her spirit. Tantalizing, exotic aromas that had never graced
the Parbury’s kitchen teased her nose, and the table was crowded
with twice the usual number of covers. There had been a bit of
commotion when the marquess had first arrived, and now Mariah guessed
the reason. Curiosity and delight overcame her self-consciousness.

“It is a bit of a departure
from the usual way of doing things, but Lord Milbourne has brought
with him a number of dishes prepared by his own cook to supplement
our table tonight,” her mother announced, confirming Mariah’s
thought. “I must leave it to him to direct us and explain things.”
The tight smile on Lady Parbury’s face concealed what Mariah knew
must be considerable chagrin. What a scene there had probably been in
the kitchen!

“I thought you might enjoy the
opportunity to sample some of the native fare I am accustomed to
eating in India,” the marquess said. His voice rumbled deep and
resonant and touched a chord somewhere inside Mariah, causing a tiny
ripple of pleasure to run through her, almost as if he had physically
touched her.

Ridiculous! She must stop this.
Were the rich aromas going to her head? Or was it just the proximity
now that she was seated right beside him? She was responding to him
like the worst moonstruck ninny. If that became obvious to their
guest, it would be every bit as embarrassing as if he overheard the
comments whispered behind his back or realized the lack of interest
her sisters had in his stories. But Mariah was interested. She sat up
a little straighter in her chair.

“What a novel idea, Lord
Milbourne!” her father said diplomatically. “I’m certain we
should all be delighted to taste what you have brought.” Normally
taciturn, Lord Parbury commanded everyone’s attention when he
spoke, since it happened so rarely. He directed a look at Mariah’s
sisters that could only be interpreted as an order.

Watching the interactions around
the table, Mariah witnessed a quick smirk pass between her brother
and the marquess. Her suspicions grew. Was this all a show on
purpose? Had they planned all of this in advance? What devils! Yet,
how like William. At the ripe age of twenty-and-seven he still had
not outgrown his penchant for mischief.

Perhaps it was cruel to put Lady
Parbury through such paces, but Mariah could not help thinking that
perhaps her mother had earned it. The fuss she was making over the
marquess since his elevation to the title and return to England was a
marked contrast to the decided lack of interest she had shown in the
years when he, lacking expectations and tied to India, had been
friends with William at school. Mariah and her sisters had never even
met him then. Was that by design? A younger version of him must still
have been sinfully handsome.

At any rate, if his behavior
today was all intended as a prank, she could appreciate the spirit of
the joke. She would have to ask William later. She glanced at the
candlelit tableau reflected in the pier glass and smiled.

“What I have brought you is
simply a representative sampling of typical dishes, some from the
south of India, some from the north,” the marquess was saying.
Mariah could mark no sign of the fleeting smirk from moments
before—indeed, Lord Milbourne appeared gracious and perfectly
sincere.

“In India we might begin the
meal with some sweets, but since all this is intended merely as a
prelude to the fine dinner your kitchen has created for us, Lord and
Lady Parbury, the order in which the dishes are tasted does not
really matter. We have here some lamb biryani,
chicken tandoori,
and a goat curry, which are commonly eaten among the land-owning
classes.”

As he nodded and pointed to the
individual dishes, the footmen on either side of the table removed
the gleaming silver covers, releasing waves of deliciously spicy
steam. Mariah loved the way the exotic names rolled off his tongue so
easily. The sound of them combined with the unfamiliar scents excited
her imagination and carried her to far off places.

Cassie, however, seated across
from her, brought her crashing back to the reality of the dinner
table by kicking her under the table. She mouthed “goat curry?”
with a grimace clearly combining disbelief and disgust.

Mariah frowned at her severely.
What if the marquess happened to notice Cassie’s reaction? She
prayed that Rorie, seated on the other side of him, was doing her
best to occupy the man’s attention. After all, that was precisely
what their mother intended.

“There are a number of side
dishes and condiments that I suggest you try along with these,”
Lord Milbourne continued smoothly. He gestured toward the different
dishes. “Several chutneys, and rice. There are three types of wheat
bread in that silver basket—you’ll find them very different, I
think, especially the poori.”

He stopped and looked around the
table. Mariah thanked the stars that Cassie wasn’t making a face
just then! “Who will be the first to try a taste?”

Silence.
Apparently everyone was waiting for someone else to speak first. The
moment dragged on painfully. Mariah could not believe that neither of
her parents—or even William—showed the courage or the courtesy to
leap into the breach.

“I will try some of the goat
curry,” she said clearly, causing everyone at the table to look at
her. Oh, dear.
Well, no doubt she had astonished them. But someone
had to go first! She smiled bravely and cast a challenging glance at
Cassie. Then her gaze strayed to the pier glass, where she caught
Lord Milbourne gazing at her with that amused expression on his face
again. Was it possible for one’s knees to grow weak while sitting?
Resolutely she picked up her spoon and turned to him. “I must
assume you recommend it?”

“Yes, of course,” he
answered, smiling openly now. His smile seemed to catch at her heart.
It softened his face into a gentler, more youthful visage.

“I will try that and then a bit
of everything,” Mariah said, resolutely ignoring that enchanting
smile, quite pleased with her show of courage. She noticed how large
and strong his hands looked as he spooned some rice onto her plate.
Then he passed the curry dish to her. It smelled divinely of cloves
and pepper, and looked like a thick beef stew. She took a heaping
spoonful.

Rorie asked for a taste then (of
course she remembered
then
not to let the focus of attention shift!), and other voices spoke up
after her. Mariah was free to experience the goat curry quite
privately. Eager to savor the anticipated new taste, she took a large
mouthful and held it on her tongue.

Hellfire!
Her mouth was burning up! Tears sprang into her eyes and she barely
managed not to spit. Chewing for only a moment and then choking down
the food in a great gulp to get it off her tongue, she merely spread
the burning sensation down into her throat. Gasping quietly, she
reached for her wine glass.

A large, strong hand intercepted
hers. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed it. “I think you
may have taken a bit too much at once,” Lord Milbourne said softly.
“Here, let me give you some of the raita—it
is made from soothing cucumber and yogurt and will help you more than
the wine.”

The moment felt inexplicably
intimate. Mariah nodded, unable to reply in words. How had he
noticed? Apparently Rorie was not holding his attention. She hadn’t
heard much conversation between them. He released her hand and
spooned some of the creamy pale condiment onto her plate, obviously
unaware that his touch had set her hand on fire, too. All of the
others were looking at her again, and she felt like the world’s
worst fool.

“I should have cautioned you
all,” the marquess said apologetically. “The dishes are very
spicy to a palate unused to them. Be sure to take a bite of rice or
bread, or one of the cooling condiments, in between very small
tastes, to begin.” He hesitated, turning his amber gaze upon her
again as if to make certain she was all right. “I should have been
watching you.”

What did he mean? She thought
somehow he must
have been watching her, for how else would he have noticed her
distress? And if indeed he had been, what did that signify? At any
rate, such gracious concern coming from him nearly took her breath
away. “Not at all, sir,” she finally managed to choke out, trying
not to be struck completely spellbound by his eyes. “Thank you.
Apparently I should have been less eager.” Oh,
in so many ways!

The rest of the meal proceeded
less eventfully. It seemed that all of the company except Mariah were
taking infinitesimal bites and generally trying to create an
impression of enthusiasm without actually having to eat very much of
the Indian food. Hopeless!
However, Mariah found that she liked it, once she mastered the proper
approach. After the exotic, almost erotic tastes and textures of
those dishes, the English roast beef and fresh perch her mother had
so carefully ordered to honor the marquess tasted very bland indeed.

After the food provided a source
for conversation, the talk resumed in much the same manner as it had
before dinner. Mariah noticed the marquess avoided certain topics,
despite a wealth of Indian stories. He didn’t talk about his
family. He never said how he came to take the job he’d had in
Lampur, what exactly he did there, or why he’d left the East India
Company.

Lady Parbury made valiant
attempts to direct the conversation into more mundane channels. “Do
you go to Lady Summersley’s ball on Friday next, Lord Milbourne?”

“Yes.” He smiled sweetly and
took another bite of roasted beef.

The baroness shifted in her seat
and tried again. “Have you made plans yet to visit your estate in
Sussex?”

“Not yet.”

Mariah thought a shadow passed
over his face, but perhaps she imagined it. Her mother tried again.

“You have applied for vouchers
for Almack’s, have you not? You must have already met the
patronesses.”

“Yes, I have.” No further
comment. He pretended to be busy with his food.

Clearly topics other than India
did not engage him. Or, was he purposely uncooperative? Wasn’t Will
smiling a bit more broadly than might be appropriate? Lady Parbury
glanced at the baron, but of course there was no help to be had
there.

Finally Mariah risked censure in
an effort to help. “Do not the various religions of the Hindustan
place restrictions on what their followers may eat, Lord Milbourne?
Perhaps you could explain to us how these dishes we have been eating
relate to those practices.”

This sally opened up some
successful conversation, but her mother frowned at her so severely,
she dutifully sank back into the role of frustrated observer for the
rest of the meal. Was it her fault if Rorie could not think of
anything to say to engage the man in conversation?

* * *

After dinner the ladies and the
men separated, according to the usual custom. Upstairs in the drawing
room supervised by ceiling cherubs, Mariah wished she could be an
invisible eavesdropper in the library below, taking in the
enlightened conversation she imagined she was missing between Lord
Milbourne and her father and brother. Why was it that women were not
expected to be interested in the same things that interested men?
Lord Milbourne could tell her so much! A great deal of what she’d
read in books and newspaper accounts about the Hindustan seemed too
fantastic to believe. He would know what was true.

Her interest had nothing to do
with the striking golden gaze of his eyes.

Meanwhile, Lady Parbury paced
about and fussed over the fate of her dinner party. “Can you
imagine having the gall to bring your own food when invited to
dinner? Cook was horribly insulted! What I went through to calm her
down, you can hardly imagine. And such food! Why, Lady Eggleston
served a curry at her dinner for Lord Bromfield last month and it was
nothing like what we ate tonight!”

“More to do with her cook than
the curry,” Georgiana murmured so that only Mariah could hear.

Mariah chuckled. Georgie, the
quietest of the sisters and the other “middle” one, was the
sister to whom she felt closest. They were only a year apart in age
and often shared a similar perspective, even if Georgie did not
frequently voice hers. At the moment, Georgie’s was a voice of
reason in a room singularly lacking in that commodity.

“Mama, do consider,” she said
calmly, turning to their mother with a consoling tone. “Indian
dishes are becoming all the rage. You are the first to have had an
introduction to these truly authentic ones, prepared by the
marquess’s own Hindustani cook! You will be the envy of everyone
when they find out. Lord Milbourne has quite honored you, I think.”

Mariah had to admire Georgie’s
strategy—it was the perfect way to soothe their mother’s
irritation.

Cassie joined in the effort to
console the baroness. “Just think, mama. People will seek you out,
pestering you for descriptions of what the food was like, so their
cooks may attempt to copy it. Our next At Home will be
thronged—you’ll see!”

As their flustered mother thought
this over, Aurora left her seat and approached Mariah. Her terse “A
word with you, sister, if I might?” confirmed that she too was
unhappy, in case Mariah had any doubts.

Was it not enough to have to
unruffle their mother without having to soothe Rorie, as well? Mariah
walked over to the fireplace out of earshot of the others, her hands
clenched into tight fists at the end of arms held rigidly at her
sides.

Rorie followed, a scowl
distorting her pretty face. “Mariah, I must insist that you stop
drawing Lord Milbourne’s attention! Mama and Papa have made it very
clear that as I am the eldest they expect me to make an attempt to
fix the man’s interest. They think I might have an advantage over
at least some of the others setting their caps for him, by virtue of
being William’s sister.”

Mariah’s patience was wearing
thin. “I am well aware of Mama’s plan, Rorie. Can it be any more
obvious? And I assure you that I have not been attempting to draw his
interest away from you. Apart from those few moments at dinner, I
quite believe that no one except Mama has been paying any more
attention to me than usual, least of all him. You need not worry.”

Aurora did not look entirely
convinced, but Mariah was. “Could you possibly think that I, of all
people, would try to compete against you?” She had no doubt that a
magnificent man like Lord Milbourne would be smitten with Rorie, the
family’s acknowledged beauty, if he were to take interest in any of
the Parbury sisters at all. Rorie’s lovely blue eyes and flawless
skin accompanied a classic straight nose that did not turn up at the
end even slightly, as Mariah’s did. It was highly unlikely that
anyone would ever consider Mariah’s curly mouse-brown hair and pale
gray eyes to be striking.

“Perhaps you should worry less
about me and work harder to engage him yourself,” she added,
crossing her arms and allowing a little of her irritation to seep
out. “I have only been trying to be polite and uphold our family’s
honor. The rest of you have been behaving abominably! If you want to
attract his interest, Rorie, it seems to me you need to show
some interest!”

Rorie wilted a little. “He goes
on at such length about the Hindustan. That is all behind him now! He
should be looking to his future instead. I would find that far more
interesting.”

“Yes, you and everyone else in
London, I suspect. The poor fellow may not have had enough time yet
to look forward, Rorie. His new life has been thrust upon him so
unexpectedly. Did you ever stop to think that he isn’t used to
London, and may still have a great deal of adjusting to do?”

“Well, he needs to learn how to
converse in polite company.”

Mariah was not about to share her
suspicions that Lord Milbourne and William might have schemed to
behave for the evening as they did quite on purpose. Instead, she
said, “Do not blame me for being willing to listen. I find his
knowledge and experiences so interesting. How can you not think so?
Have you no curiosity about other parts of the world?”

Rorie shook her head.

Mariah rolled her eyes.
One might believe we are not actually sisters. How can we be so
different? Aloud she
said, “William told me Lord Milbourne’s house is filled with
priceless treasures he brought back with him from Lampur and other
places. Carved filigree screens and art pieces set with gold and
jewels. Would you not give anything to see them? I would!”

“If Mama has her way, she would
have me setting up my nursery among them,” Rorie answered morosely.
She shuddered. “They are heathen things, Mariah, made in a savage
country. It does not seem proper for you to take such an interest in
them. Beware.”

Rorie could be amazingly
narrow-minded at times. Was it really so surprising that, despite her
beauty, she was still unmarried at two-and-twenty years? Not
a good match for the marquess at all.
Mariah shrugged off the warning. “It sounds as though you are not
convinced you should go along with Mama’s wishes.”

Rorie cast a glance towards their
mother, still being soothed by Georgie and Cassie. “How could I
mind being married to a wealthy, handsome marquess?” she replied,
but Mariah thought it sounded now as if Rorie was trying to convince
herself.

They returned to their seats to
find their mother looking a good deal more cheerful.

“We had better ring for Wilkins
and James to come and set up the tables for whist,” Lady Parbury
said, rallying. “Girls, you do suppose the marquess would play
whist?”

“Really, Mama,” Mariah
answered. “Whyever would he not? You act as if he is a barbarian,
and Hindustan the end of civilization. ’Tis no such thing!”

But her mother was not paying
attention, already distracted by the need to fuss with one of Rorie’s
sleeves.

* * *

Below them in the library, the
men had finished a first round of port. Conversation had ranged from
the social necessities required of a man in London to Ren’s opinion
of Lord Moira, the current Governor-General in India, and even
whether Ren had ever met the Mughal emperor, Akbar Shah the Second.
Will had been helpful, steering the conversation away from
controversy several times. Ren had also managed to dance around
several of Lord Parbury’s more probing questions about government
or East India Company policies, offering vague replies or going off
on tangents and never quite returning to what had been asked.

As they set down their empty
glasses, Lord Parbury stood up, which of course brought Ren and
William to their feet as well. “Will you excuse me for a few
moments?” the baron asked. “I have a particularly fine brandy in
my study I’d like to offer you. ’Tis easier to go and get it
myself than to wait for Bennett to come and wait again while he
carries out my request.”

The
moment his father left the room, poor William approached Ren, his
brows drawn together and his hand outstretched. “Are we still on
speaking terms? I have much to apologize for.”

Ren
shot him a puzzled glance. “Have you? I’ve no idea what. Of
course we are still speaking.”

“I
would never have pressed you to come if I had realized quite how
awful it was going to be. I cannot believe that my father suggested
you should visit his tailor! And a certain amount of ignorant
behavior may be expected from my sisters, but my mother! She is
beyond too much.”

Ren
chuckled. “I have endured far more difficult evenings. I’ve been
trying my best to disenchant them. I cannot shun society entirely,
much as I might wish to, and I have, after all, exacted a small
amount of retribution. Do you not think I’ve been sufficiently
boorish?”

“Wearisome
to a fine degree. But I’m not convinced now that it will be enough
to protect you,” Will replied, shoulders sagging.

“I might have met with more
success if your sister Mariah had not been so interested in
everything.” Her interest had seemed sincere, and she had very
nearly thrown him off his chosen path. He had needed to remind
himself several times why he was behaving badly.

“You’ve no idea,” Will
said. “She is very restrained tonight, thanks to our mother’s
determination. Mariah’s curiosity can be quite formidable.”

“Not always a bad thing in a
female, I think,” Ren answered. However, the fact that Mariah
intrigued him was not a good thing, to his mind, and also was not one
he wanted Will to know. Best to move the conversation away from her
and back to safer topics.

“Your
father is correct that I need better tailoring, and your mother is
suffering from a delusion that will be shared by many another
hope-filled mama during the months ahead. Eventually they will all
have to accept that I do not intend to marry. I will become an
eccentric old bachelor.”

William
slapped his shoulder. “You are already accounted as eccentric, my
friend! Who refurbishes their house to look like a Hindu palace? But
it is my impression that such women will never
give up, regardless of how you behave or how old you become. Did my
mother seem discouraged? No. You could be the worst devil you can
imagine and they would still be chasing after you. You have rank and
fortune, now. That’s all it takes. I think the only protection may
be to find someone you might tolerate and get leg-shackled.”

Ren’s stomach churned at
thought of marrying again, especially without love. He braced for the
searing sense of loss that always battered him at such moments.

“Will, I was married, in
India.” He could not go through it again. Mary’s fine features
floated before him, followed by the brilliant smile of Anjana, the
Indian woman he had loved afterwards. As he had taught himself to do,
he closed his eyes for a moment and visualized closing shutters over
their images, the only way he had found to keep his haunting memories
at bay.

Will’s shock forced him back a
step. “I had no idea! I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Leave it to say I lost her.
And also another woman I loved after her. I am done.”

Ren took his seat again, hoping
Will would understand not to pursue the details. Would knowing he was
a widower make any difference to people here? He supposed not. But he
had no wish to share his life with someone he did not care for, and
no wish to bring into it someone he might care for. Death seemed to
surround him. He doubted he could survive the pain if he had to
suffer another loss of someone he loved. There had been too many
deaths.

Resuming
his own seat, Will asked, “What becomes of your line and the title
if you never do that duty?”

It
was a fair question, one Ren had also posed. “The lawyers explained
that. There’s a cousin in a family branch who stands currently as
my heir. No doubt he’s still as astonished at the change in his
fortunes as I am! He’s welcome to it all, when the time comes. I
believe he even has a son already.”

Will’s face clearly reflected
shock. Ren understood it. While sympathetic and also in no hurry to
wed, at heart Will was still as conventional as the rest of his
family—well, except for Miss Mariah, perhaps. But he had no chance
to say anything more to Ren, as Lord Parbury returned to the room
bearing his much-prized brandy.

* * *

When the men rejoined the ladies
in the drawing room upstairs, tables were already set up for playing
cards. Mariah thought the marquess looked reluctant when Lady Parbury
suggested whist. Would he refuse?

“Oh,” he said, with a look of
disappointment that seemed genuine. “I had thought perhaps the
young ladies would offer us some music.” He looked pointedly at the
pianoforte in the far corner of the room. “Surely they play?”

His preference matched Mariah’s
own. But her mother acted as if she had not even heard him. “Allow
me to seat you at this table, my lord, and here’s Aurora to be your
partner. Lord Parbury and I will play against you.”

He might have insisted—especially
if he was purposely trying to be an irksome guest. Instead, when the
baroness ignored him, he politely let it go.

Impeccable manners, now.
Unfortunate. Was she
wrong about the scheme she thought she had detected? Mariah wondered
what his musical tastes and talents might be. Did he play an
instrument? Sing? And what did Indian music sound like? That was not
something one could learn from a book. But she knew exactly why her
mother had pretended not to hear. Rorie’s musical talents did not
compare well against those of her younger sisters. Georgie, Mariah
and Cassie must not outshine Aurora on this important evening!

Really, Mariah thought, her
mother was merciless.

Mariah played horridly with
William and her other two sisters, for her mind was not on the game.
She could not keep her attention away from the next table, where
Rorie and her mother chattered valiantly in the face of Lord
Parbury’s usual silence and what Mariah thought was a notable lack
of encouragement from the marquess.

Lord, the poor man must be bored
to tears! Well, perhaps not to tears. What did
men become bored to the point of? The signs were unmistakable, from
his foot tapping beneath the table to the fingers he could not stop
from occasionally drumming on the tabletop. If his days were filled
with nothing but the new affairs of his inheritance and such inane
social travesties as this, how miserable he must be!

She wondered if he missed India.
Did he feel homesickness for his life in Lampur? The only time he
brightened up was when Lady Parbury asked about the work he was
having done on his house in Grosvenor Square. Almost as if he
couldn’t stop himself, he launched into a spell-binding description
of cave temples in Western India and various rajas’ palaces whose
interiors were influencing his renovations.

Who would not want to see such a
sight? She did. She wanted to so much it surprised her. It sounded as
if he was attempting to bring India to London. It was also the most
personal thing he had divulged all evening.

“Mariah? Your play,” said
William.

Bother!
She barely looked at her cards before she selected one to place on
the table. Surely the marquess would hold their family in the
greatest contempt after such a painful evening. What would that do
for Rorie’s chances? Not that Mariah thought those two would suit,
but a certain amount of family loyalty and pride was involved in her
wanting Rorie to have a fair chance. Every other marriage-seeking
young lady with a titled background would no doubt be making a play
for the poor man.

Cannot you rescue your friend?
Mariah wanted to shout at her brother. Short of kicking William under
the table, she didn’t know how to get her message across.

“Mariah, you’ve just led
trumps,” wailed Cassie in great annoyance. “You are not paying
the slightest attention! Why cannot Georgie be my partner instead of
you?”

Why could not Rorie and Mama ask
the marquess something intelligent? Mariah’s head was full of
questions she’d like to ask, but doing so in front of them would be
borrowing trouble. She had already been warned. Mama was constantly
reminding her that she must hide her addiction to books—that men
did not like Bluestockings. And Rorie already seemed to think Mariah
was trying to fix Lord Milbourne’s interest, when of course it was
only his knowledge she wanted! Most certainly that was all.

“I apologize, Cassie,” she
said, glad her turn was over for the moment.

As Georgie perused her cards
before making the next play, Mariah tried to catch William’s eye.
When finally she did, she grimaced and rolled her eyes towards the
other table. William tightened his lips and shrugged, almost
imperceptibly.

So, he does realize.
There was small comfort in that—he clearly intended to do nothing.
If he and the marquess had indeed conspired together, perhaps they
deserved every resulting awkward moment. She looked at Georgiana, who
frowned at her cards with a tiny wrinkle of concentration between her
brows. Georgie was always hard to read. She could be intentionally
keeping her mind off the situation, or she could be trying hard to
think of some remedy, as Mariah was.

Could one of them pretend to be
taken ill suddenly? No. That might successfully break up the party,
but the marquess might think it a reflection upon his food! And if
Mariah did it, she might again be accused of trying to draw
attention. Was there nothing anyone could do?

Just when Mariah thought she
could stand to see him suffer no more, Bennett appeared bearing a
note on a silver tray and approached Lady Parbury, interrupting the
cardplay. The baroness nodded and Bennett delivered the note to the
marquess.

Mariah watched him read it, his
face darkening with what appeared to be genuine concern.

“Lord and Lady Parbury, please
forgive me,” he said, folding the note and tucking it into his
waistcoat. He pushed back his chair and rose in a single, fluid
motion. “I must depart at once—something as happened at my home
that requires my urgent attention. My coachman is waiting. I regret
that I must not even stay to finish this hand.”

Was it a true emergency, or a
conveniently arranged escape? How much of the evening had been a
sham, designed by him and William? Mariah only knew that he was
leaving, and that despite her wish to spare him just moments earlier,
now her heart was sinking in dismay.

Ren’s
heart had started to pound even as he unfolded the note. What
now? As welcome as the
interruption was, he braced for whatever this new problem might be.
Unexplained happenings had plagued his house in Grosvenor Square from
the time of his arrival in London.

He
scanned the contents quickly—there was indeed a crisis. Ranee, the
Asian cheetah he had raised as a pet and brought from India along
with a handful of loyal servants, had escaped from the confines of
his house. Ren hoped the big cat was no further away than the back
garden, but if she chose to leave that walled enclosure, the incident
could quickly escalate into a true disaster.

Making
his apologies, he pushed back from the table and stood, thinking
quickly as he refolded the note and stuffed it into his waistcoat.
Best that his hosts should not know. The quieter he could keep this
incident, the better. Racing off would certainly cap an evening full
of intentionally rude behavior on his part, but it would also draw
questions and unwanted attention to the crisis. Despite the urge to
hurry, he should take his leave calmly, and hope for speed once he
reached his waiting carriage.

He
bowed to Lord Parbury, breaking up the party as everyone abandoned
their cards and rose for his farewells.

His
greatest concern was that some harm might befall Ranee. Loose in the
city streets the big cat might be terrified and forget all her
training. He could imagine her crushed under the wheels of a dray or
the hooves of panicked horses, or shot by some fearful citizen. But
even without such dire results, her escape was a problem that could
cause considerable difficulty among his neighbors should they learn
of it.

“I
do hope it is nothing too serious,” Lady Parbury said, concern
etched on her features. She raised an eyebrow, no doubt expecting him
to offer more explanation.

“My
hope as well, my lady. I thank you for your gracious hospitality, as
well as your concern.” Despite his hurry, he just couldn’t
continue the charade of rudeness. William’s family had meant well,
after all. They had been kind to invite him, and until this moment,
deep down he had not been altogether sorry that he had come. He bowed
quickly over her hand, and made his bows to her daughters, who each
made a pretty curtsey.

Mariah
was last in the line of them, and he was aware of her gaze following
his every motion. What was going through her mind? When he came to
her in turn, she curtseyed gracefully and sincerely echoed the
sentiments of everyone else, hoping that the trouble was would not
prove too serious.

“Thank you,” he replied
soberly, but then he smiled. He couldn’t seem to help it. “As for
you, Miss Parbury, enthusiasm becomes you. Just be cautious of where
it leads you!”

Her eyes, more silver than gray,
now that he really looked into them, lit with surprise. Was she
blushing?

“I enjoyed the food you
brought. Very much. And also all your stories, Lord Milbourne.” She
was nearly stammering. “Priests, tapers, temples, swim before my
very sight,” she quoted, rushing out the words.

Good heavens.Of all the quotes!
“You are familiar with Alexander Pope? Well, well.”

Now she was blushing for certain,
no faint tinge of pink but a deep rush of rose that flooded her
cheeks. As well she might, for he knew that poem, and while that line
might seem appropriate, the rest of the verse was most definitely
not. The poem was about lovers, not India.

What
a funny little blue-stocking she was! Her mother had been looking
daggers at her for most of the evening. Did they think he wouldn’t
notice? He couldn’t help wondering how diverting the time might
have been if she had been paired with him instead of her sister and
allowed the free rein of her tongue.

“Pray do not get her started,”
Will interrupted, looking a trifle embarrassed himself. “I’ll
walk down with you, old man.”

Ren
bowed to her, and then he and her brother began to move away. She
sidestepped toward the door of the room, following them with a hand
reached out, almost as if she wanted to grasp his arm and stop him.

“Is
it true that they ride on elephants to go hunting?” Even distracted
by his worries, Ren thought he detected a trace of desperation in her
voice.

“Hush, Mariah! Let the man take
his leave,” William said. “Ren, just ignore her.”

Spoken just like a brother.
Ren felt another stab to his heart. How often had he done the same to
his own younger sister? And now regretted it every day, missing her.
How often did the Parburys ignore Miss Mariah? He would not do so, no
matter how urgently he needed to leave.

He
reached for her small hand and as awareness buzzed through him,
brushed a chaste kiss across her fingers. She was already blushing.
Did his touch unsettle her more? The idea made him smile more, as if
some devil drove him. Touching her certainly affected him. He
recognized that, but still he was not prepared for the sense of
connection that rocked him when he looked again into those expressive
eyes. Dangerous.

To
cover his reaction, he winked and quickly released her hand.
“Sometimes they do.” Had she felt a connection, too? She looked
unduly flustered. “It depends entirely upon what they are hunting.”

With
a parting smile, he ducked out of the room with Will right behind
him.

The
moment they were out of the drawing room, Will spoke up.

“Shall
I come with you? Can I help?”

Of
course his kind-hearted friend would offer without even knowing the
trouble. Ren owed him the explanation that he’d withheld from the
rest of the Parburys. As their footsteps echoed along the passage
toward the staircase, he quickly outlined the contents of the note.

“Thank
you for offering to help,” he finished, “but I must refuse.
Please take this as no slight upon your courage, my friend, or your
good intentions either. Even though you and Ranee have met, you are
not yet a familiar person to her. She is tame, but cheetahs can be
unpredictable if upset. Bringing along a stranger under these
circumstances could aggravate the situation.”

Once he had ensured Will’s
discretion and bid him farewell at the bottom of the stairway, Ren
fairly flew out to his waiting carriage, grabbing his hat, stick and
gloves from the family’s startled footman at the door. There was no
more time to waste. He nodded to his coachman as he climbed in.
“Home, as fast as you can, Ahmed.” His loyal man complied,
starting the horses even before Ren was quite settled on the leather
squabs inside.

* * *

In the Parburys’ drawing room,
the ladies chose to retire, leaving the baron to his study and the
servants to clean up. Lady Parbury declared she had endured quite
enough for one evening. Mariah went to her own room, where her sister
Georgina joined her.

“Dear Lord, Georgie! Has anyone
ever made such a fool of themselves as I did?” Mariah flopped onto
the white coverlet on her bed and buried her face in her pillow,
rather wishing that she could be alone to sort out her feelings, or
at least to nurse her misery.

“I’m quite certain the answer
to that is yes—many people, and much worse than you.” Georgie
settled into the wing chair near the hearth. “But you did act
strangely. What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”

Mariah turned her head so she
could speak. “I only wanted to make certain that Lord Milbourne did
not leave without knowing at least one person in the house had
enjoyed his glorious stories.” It had seemed desperately important,
but she wouldn’t share that bit. “I cannot believe I quoted that
poem to him—I don’t know what came over me. It just blurted out!
And he clearly knew the reference.” She could feel the blush
starting again.